


What You Want

by ladywiltshire



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Bloodplay, F/M, M/M, Mild Kink, Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-26
Packaged: 2018-09-27 03:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9956693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladywiltshire/pseuds/ladywiltshire
Summary: The reader experiences a fast and rough encounter with Greed.





	

Blood pumping, heart pounding, head swimming from the rush. He always takes it slow, but your toes are already curled in anticipation. Fresh snow crunches beneath his boots as he presses your bare back against the alley wall, rough shale lightly scratching you. Not exactly the scenario you’re used to. It’s cold, and so is his shield as he slinks between your parted thighs, applying pressure. Just enough to make you squirm. He looks down to your clavicle, noting with a delighted hum the way your chest rises and falls from just waiting. You never know when or where he will decide he wants you.

Maybe you would feel cold if it weren’t for the pangs of desire striking you like hot irons. The snowfall seems like blue flames in your dizzied state, so cold they burn on your exposed skin. Neon lights soften his edges, the bright red reminding you of what could only be called warfare. The bright red of whatever it was that happened between you and him when his vision tunneled, his knuckles cracked, his lips parted wickedly.

His breath clouds over your neck, hot and wet. You feel his chest expand against yours, and realize he’s taking in your scent. Starting with the air around you before he takes the rest of you -- the very space you occupied was not yours, but his. You breathe him in, too. He’s liquor, leather, and smoke, cedar and lavender. The tips of his fingers drain white over the contours of your body, holding you fast. He might be lightly grinding his pelvis against yours, but you’re too punch drunk to distinguish your aches from his touch. Your stomach drops as you feel the joints of his hands lock under your thighs, the meat on your bones already bruising in his unrelenting grip. His mouth curls like string over a flame, revealing those keen ivories of his. He likes what he feels: supple, warm, trembling.

You feel the familiar hardness of his shield and intoxicating dread as the sensation of pricking claws dawns on you. He lifts his arm, supporting you easily with the other. His shield stops at the elbow, and you flinch as it descends upon you. A tearing of fabric splits the evening chill, and he tosses the last of what could be considered your garments aside. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but he seemed to want you superbly vulnerable this time. You could never predict how he would decide to take you, but that’s not what you’re thinking of right now. Your hands fumble at his belt buckle and he rumbles in approval, the vibration rippling down to your marrow. You can feel the heat through the leather. The two of you linger on the precipice as you finally manage his pants over the object of your affection, inflamed with want. He pushes you harder against the wall. Reminding you: you’re the one exposed, not him. The rough surface pricks your skin and you wonder if that’s blood you’re smelling.

The fur on his vest grazes your chest as he descends upon your jaw, tips of his teeth grazing delicate skin, the wide of his tongue chasing the edge of your bones. You can’t help but struggle in his grip, buck slightly in response to the increased pressure. You try to slow your breathing, but your huffs plume into the night air, your pathetic eagerness palpable. You track your nails over the sinew of his torso, past the nodes of his hips, finally closing your grip over his length. A growl reverberates against your neck, and he grabs your wayward hand. So, he’s running the show. His shield is down again.

It seems he’s changed his mind about taking his time as he slides his hand over your sweet spot with practiced finesse. He catches your cry in his mouth, your head colliding against brick with his kiss. You don’t mind it “quick and dirty”, although you are slightly alarmed by the change of pace. It’s not like him. But you’re lost now, mindless for his touch, dizzy from the slick tongue gliding past your teeth. An urgent sobriety seems to knee you in the gut as you taste iron. Blood. Your lip throbs. He feels you jerk, and he chuckles under his breath. He knows you won’t pull away, and you know better than to pretend you’re not rapidly approaching release.

He pulls away just long enough to hear you whimper as he tenses his fingers within you.

“Tell me you want it, baby.”

“I -- ah -- I want it,” you slur. 

Both of you are pleasantly surprised you can form words. He acknowledges your consent with a satisfied groan, returning his hand to your thigh. You can feel his shaft rub hot up against you and he returns to your mouth, tilting your head along with his. Your knees hit your chest, and both of you can’t help but quietly snigger against each other’s lips as you hear your right hip pop. He shakes your thigh playfully at first in response, maybe gauging its wherewithal for the impending event. It passes the test, and he slaps it as if you were a horse breaking out of the gate. He’s ready.

He pulls back for a moment to observe you, exquisite in your contorted helplessness. His eyes seem to dart from sternum to spine to mandible, and you can tell he’s deciding whether or not he wants to break them. A sweeping fear coils like heated wires in your veins, and you realize just how much he’s turned you on. Maybe it’s the fear that truly draws you to him. Your thoughts freeze entirely as he presses himself up against you, pausing, savoring the sound of breathing and your begging eyes. He wipes the blood dripping down your chin perhaps a little more gingerly than he intended.

He enters you. Your face twists like mixed paints, colored with both pleasure and pain. His smile accompanies the first tender pulses, the suppressed moans escaping your lungs, echoing his own. You’re dripping with anticipation, waves of euphoria already rippling throughout your core. You have no way of telling where he’s at on his own climb, but that doesn’t matter. He’ll be finished when he decides he is.

He picks up the pace a little, though it’s still what could be considered gentle, and returns to your neck. You can’t help but flinch, knowing what’s coming. You shudder as the tip of his tongue slides down your neck to your collarbone. It always reminds you the alcohol swab before the incision. A very clinical way of viewing it, perhaps, but it’s that same wary feeling of waiting for pain that grips you once his tongue swipes over his chosen bit of flesh. Your hand ascends his neck, up into his hair. You feel him smile against you, and he tests you with a prick. Your cry comes out almost as a laugh, something you do when frightened.

Your heart pounds through your chest as you hear a sucking sound. He’s already sank his teeth into you. It doesn’t hurt, at least, not yet. It never does at first. The muscle spasms in your shoulder set off ones below your waist, your cries setting off your lover as his rhythm strengthens. It’s an immaculate sensation, the closest to perfection that you could ever imagine. He’s the only one that can give it to you, you both know.

His thrusts beat against you as if you were a drum. He plays in time, precise, fervent, and mad. You’re bouncing into his rhythm, body tensing as you feel the point of no return fast approaching. There’s no need for words; he can feel it. Your hands clutch at the small of his back, pulling and pushing to his beat in pure mania. It stings where he bit you, pins and needles radiate from his teeth marks. You both know you’re losing blood.

His moans are like thunder; booming, deep, penetrating. They’re enough to send you over the edge all on their own, even though you’re used to him talking you up. The air seems to crystallize around you, drops of sweat thick with cold descend your neck. Your legs throb. Blood drips hot between your skin and the bricks, from your collarbone over your chest. Surely your back is raw by now. But you knew what you were signing up for, even if you weren’t sure what to expect. It was a thrill every time, and that was what you wanted.

You’re close now, painfully so. The way he licks your blood from his lips drives you wild, and you pull him in to kiss you. You’re writhing with abandon over his sex, mindless in the throes of climax. Your breath spikes into colliding snowflakes, gasps and moans escaping in time with your bloody symphony. His grip on your thighs is painful. It’s ecstasy. 

“Oh, that’s it,” he croons.

It’s all he needs to say. Your head bangs into the bricks as you throw it back, the divine peaks of orgasm seizing you, throbbing against your wound. Your heartbeat keeps your awareness trapped within your skin, but you swear you hear a dangerous laughter. He refuses to let up in intensity, and you can feel his ascent inside you. You grip his hair at the root and dig your nails into his shoulder, still riding high. He bucks you up roughly as your fist closes over his scalp, and both of you cry out upon feeling the pulse of his cock. Your weakened muscles shudder at the sensation, almost too much to process as you begin the long way down.

He looks you in the eyes as he savors his agonizingly sublime final thrusts. Amethyst and red never looked so beautiful together. His hand moves up your abdomen, past your wound, and his blood-stained fingers spread wide over your face. Your chests heave in sync as he feels your wet skin, brushes his fingers over your lips, and runs them behind your ears and down your jaw. You were a specimen, no doubt.

Finally, he exits you gingerly, and lets down your legs. Your hands grope against the bricks as you try to regain composure, but it’s no use to keep your head from swimming. Your whole body still pulses as you slump to the snow. It melts almost instantaneously beneath your heat.

You manage to tilt your head up enough to see what you think is Greed fixing his belt into place. He wipes some of your blood from his chest. The snow around you stains red, glowing in tandem with the neon lights. It’s like a painting, or a photo that will stay forever in the back of your mind. He removes his vest. He brushes some of the snow from the fur before he drapes it around your shoulders and helps you up. Rather, he pulls you. You’re not doing too well on your own.

“I never liked snow,” he mutters. He catches you in his arms as you fall forward. His eyes lose their edge, if only for a moment, as he observes your sad attempts to right yourself.

“Dizzy,” you manage to huff.

He shakes his head, laughing to himself at your vigor. Picking you up with ease, you both ascend the stairs of the fire escape. It would be wise to take the back way to his room.

“Let’s get you patched up, sweetheart.”

You know this means he’ll probably take you again in a hot bath or on heated sheets. Normally, you’re his for the night once he decides on you. World spinning, you let your head fall against his chest. Your body goes limp in the sway of his step. You’re glad that some things never change, even if they don’t happen often.


End file.
